


The Way You Move (Ain't Fair, You Know)

by indiaalphawhiskey



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Actor Louis, Alternate Universe, Drabble, Drop The Mic AU, M/M, Singer Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 15:37:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15003980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiaalphawhiskey/pseuds/indiaalphawhiskey
Summary: Fuck Niall Horan.Fuck Niall Horan for drunkenly suggesting, over their fifth pint of beer, that Harry appear on Drop the Mic for his Dunkirk promo.Fuck Niall James Horan to the moon and back.--Or, the Drop The Mic drabble no one asked for.





	The Way You Move (Ain't Fair, You Know)

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you get lost in a YouTube rabbit hole. That is my only excuse.
> 
> Thank you to Jacky and Shannon for beta-ing this self indulgent little thing, and again to Shannon for the cover art. <3
> 
> I hope you guys like it!

 

Fuck Niall Horan.

Fuck Niall Horan for drunkenly suggesting, over their fifth pint of beer, that Harry appear on _Drop the Mic_ for his Dunkirk promo.

Fuck Niall James Horan to the moon and back.

Fuck Liam James Payne, fuck James Corden, fuck all the Jameses...es. And fuck Zayn Malik too, even if he wasn’t a James, because he didn’t do anything to stop it, the absolute fucker.

_“James,” Harry had begged, already near tears. (An effect of the alcohol because Harry Styles would never cry from fear. Never.)  “James, please. You know it takes me twenty minutes to read out the menu at Nando’s. I can’t fucking rap!” he had screeched. “We’d be on air for seven hours!”_

_“But that’s the fun of it, H!” James had chortled – actually_ chortled _, the arsehole. “Look, if you do this, I_ promise, _I’ll get you an easy competitor.”_

And maybe there had been something in that last beer because the next thing he knew, Harry was nodding – willingly signing on to get his arse handed to him on live television.

He groaned again at the memory now, the regret making him drop his head into his hands. Maybe he deserved this, this cruel and unusual punishment – maybe _then_ he’d learn not to be so damn gullible. Or to get some better friends; either way, this was a _teachable_ moment.

“Ten minutes!” The stage manager called out cheerily. “We’re on the air in ten minutes!”

“Oh God,” Harry moaned pitifully. “I’m going to die.”

“Mmm.” Zayn supplied helpfully.

“Calm down, H,” Niall advised. “S’gonna be great!” he paused then, this forehead wrinkling as he looked Harry up and down. “Did you have to wear that suit though? I mean, yer makin’ it a little too easy, no?”

Harry glared at him, petting the sleeve of his shiny purple suit in apology. The truth was he wore it because he thought it’d distract the audience from his impending execution. But he wasn’t going to admit _that._

“I _like_ this suit.” he huffed.

“So did Willy Wonka, mate.” Zayn quipped with a smirk.

“Oh, what do you know?” Harry snapped, gesturing to Zayn’s bright green hair. “You look like a handsome glowstick.”

Niall let out a robust snort but Zayn didn’t even look mildly offended, crossing his arms over his chest and moving a little, to accommodate Liam into their tiny circle. Liam cheerfully handed each of the boys a doughnut, except Harry.

“Sorry mate,” he said, and at least his frown looked genuine. “You’re on in five. Can’t have chocolate in your teeth.”

“You guys are the wor –“

Just then, a small huddle of people took their place beside the boys, a red-clad figure in the center being fussed over.

“One last little…” the makeup artist said, as she swiped on some powder with a flourish. “Perfect!” she declared, stepping away from the group.

“Thanks, love.”

That soft, sweet, raspy voice – Harry would recognize it anywhere. He had spent many a fantasy thinking about what he would say when they finally met, how he would somehow manage to charm the pants off his teen dream, how he’d make Louis Tomlinson laugh and laugh, and then make him fall in love.

 _This was_ so _not the plan,_ Harry thought woefully.

The plan had been to get casually introduced by a common friend at an industry party, dolled up and looking every bit like the sexy rockstar Harry was clearly not. They were going to strike up a conversation about something smart, Harry would slip in a witty joke or five, congratulate Louis on his two recent Academy Award wins, and then they’d fall into bed and get married. Foolproof.

But instead, his darling friend James had decided to improvise, thought _this_ would be the best way to break the ice, thought it would be _cute_ if Harry Styles rap battled the future father of his three-point-five children in front of two million viewers.

Harry should sue him _._

He was startled out of his strop by Louis’ giggle.

“Is that your game face, kitten?” he teased, smirking mischievously, his blue eyes twinkling. “You look like someone stepped on your sandcastle.”

“Your trash talk’s in dire need of work.” Harry shot back, surprising even himself with his wit. _Hey, this might not be so bad!_

“Cheeky,” Louis chuckled, nodding his head like he was impressed. “Maybe you’ll actually hold up for a couple of rounds, Rambo.”

Just as Harry was about to reply, Louis’ assistant leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Louis gave him a small nod, before turning back to Harry, a wicked smirk on his lips.

“See you out there, Styles,” he said, already making his way to the other side of the stage. “I’ll try not to wipe the floor with you!” he called over his shoulder.

Harry could only stare after him, a dopey smile starting up on his lips.

“Did you see that wink?” Niall whispered, waggling his eyebrows. “Flirty.” he sang, dragging out the ‘y’ and shimmying his shoulders.

“Maybe you’ll get those three kids after all.” Zayn added.

“Three-point-five.” Harry corrected uselessly.

“And then, you’ll thank us for this!” Liam threw in excitedly.

“Don’t hold your breath.” Harry deadpanned, pointing a threatening finger at Liam’s face.

Liam pouted, but it was then that the opening music started and Niall moved behind him, massaging his shoulders like he was Ali between rounds.

“You can do this, H,” he whispered seriously.

Liam nodded narrowing his eyes and barring his teeth. “Put your game face on. _Grrr!_ ” he growled, and if Harry wasn’t so nervous, he would laugh at the ridiculousness.

 _Relax, H,_ he told himself as he cracked his neck. _You can do this, you can lie. Just tell yourself Louis is any other guy._

And, _oh God,_ he was thinking in _rhyme._ He was definitely, _definitely_ going to die.

The next ten minutes passed in a flurry of bright lights and activity, and before he knew it Harry was on stage, the crowd roaring loudly as he and Louis were introduced. He smiled and waved as Method Man said his blurb, trying to distract himself from dabbing at the sweat on his temples.

He turned to Louis, and caught his playful wink, just as Method Man boomed out, “Let the battle commence!”

The purple and orange lights flashed, and Harry spared a moment to think about how they complimented his suit nicely, before he heard Louis call out, “Joshua, give me a beat.”

Joshua began his beatbox, the classic _dug-tss-da-dug-dug-tss,_ Louis bouncing gracefully to it, holding the gold mic up to his lips.

 

_“I can’t believe they asked you to rap, Harry, could you talk any slower?_

_It’s like trying to load a video on Internet Explorer._

_When they said I was battling a Brit, I was expecting someone witty,_

_but all you got going for you is I guess you’re_ kinda _pretty?”_

 

“Ohhh!” the crowd hooted as a laugh burst from Harry’s lips. _Straight for the jugular._

Louis’ answering shrug was his only warning before the second blow.

 

_“Just kidding, I heard 1D are the World’s Sexiest Men._

_Did they tell you the voters were all aged about ten?_

_No, for real though, you’re handsome – yeah, that dimple’s quite cute!_

_It’s about the only thing that keeps me from putting your album on mute.”_

 

“Hey!” Harry laughed into the mic, but it didn’t slow Louis down.

 

_“You went on X-Factor ‘cause you thought you could sing,_

_but after five years, mate, I gotta tell you it just ain’t your thing._

_Yikes, that hurt, right? I made you flinch. Ouch._

_Is it the wrong time to add that you dress like me Nan’s couch?”_

 

Louis had sidled up to Harry as he recited, and now he was batting his eyelashes sweetly at him – a challenge.

“Oh, okay,” Harry said, nodding. “I thought we were gonna start slow, my mistake.” Louis giggled, stepping back as Harry looked up to where Joshua was standing. “Give me a beat, please.” he requested, throwing a dimpled smile at Louis as he pretended to clear his throat.

 

_Dug-tss-da-dug-dug-tss. Dug-tss-da-dug-dug-tss._

 

_“I treat people with kindness, so I’ll do this with class._

_It’s nice to know even_ your _mouth couldn’t ruin_ that _ass.”_

 

Harry drew a heart in the air and pointed at Louis’ bum.

 

“Aww, thanks love!” Louis laughed, holding a hand to his heart.

 

_“You wanna talk talent, well, isn’t that strange?_

_To be a pro actor, don’t you at least need range?”_

 

“Ooh!” The crowd taunted, as Louis hissed like he’d been hurt.

 

_“You played a footballer in three movies, got two more in your plan._

_Tell me, how many times you gon’ try to be David Beckham?_

_I’ve tried to watch your films but you’re the same in every scene._

_Are you already booked for World Cup The Movie: Sixteen?_

 

_I didn’t wanna try acting ‘til you won an Academy Award._

_Then I called my agent and said ‘I guess it ain’t_ that _hard’.”_

 

Louis gasped, his mouth dropping open as he clutched at his chest. He narrowed his eyes at Harry and shook his head.

‘You’re going down.’ he mouthed silently. Harry giggled, holding his hands up in surrender before continuing.

 

_“Aww, shit. I made you mad, and we’ve only just met!_

_Is it ‘cause you’re jealous that I’m a triple threat?”_

 

Harry punctuated the line by doing a goofy little tap dance, complete with a twirl, the crowd cheering him on as Louis waved at them to shush.

 

“Cute, very cute,” Louis admitted, and Harry felt his cheeks heat, pleased. He didn’t have much time to relish it, though, before Louis was rapping again.

 

_“Okay mate, you’ve got talent. Of course you don’t stink!_

_I loved Bye Bye Bye – oh wait! That was N’Sync.”_

 

“Har har.” Harry grumbled into the mic.

 

_“What about – nope. That still wasn’t you,_

_so every compliment I had just isn’t true!_

 

_Call yourself a triple threat, love, you’ve been in one skit._

_It don’t even count cause you were drowning for most of it._

_You had about six lines, was surprised you weren’t dead._

_In the credits you’re called ‘Guy Next To Fionn Whitehead’._

 

_And okay, it’s a Nolan, that’s amazing, I’ll give you that._

_How’d you get that part? They draw your name out of a hat?_

_Everybody’s praising you, say you’re in line for an EGOT._

_But I guess my question is, Harry, why do you keep missing the G-spot?”_

 

Harry’s eyes bugged out of his head as the crowd hooted, Louis whispering _‘That’s what she said!’_ , before continuing mercilessly.

 

_“Aww, you don’t have a Grammy, don’t worry – it’s fine!_

_I guess they don’t have an award for Year’s Best Nursery Rhyme.”_

 

Louis’ voice went higher, baby-talking the last four words, and Harry could only blink, dumbstruck, giggling at his own expense.

“Touché.” he acquiesced.

 _Please marry me,_ was what he wanted to say, trying to shake the dopey smile off of his face. He nodded, scrunching his nose and pushing away the fluttering in his heart so he could concentrate.

If this was the only chance he was going to get to impress Louis, he might as well go out with a bang. He threw Louis a bright smile as he bounced to his beat.

 

_“You make fun of my boyband days, say my fame is a glitch._

_Tell me, did your stint at Barney and Friends make you stinking rich?_

_And yeah, I don’t have a Grammy, I’ll agree for shits and giggles._

_But at least my plan B isn’t a spot on The Wiggles.”_

 

“I like them, though!” Louis told the crowd, shaking his head and beaming.

 

_“You’d make a great Wiggle, Lou, you’re cute, it’s true._

_And if that don’t work out the Teletubbies are hiring too.”_

 

“Ew,” Louis laughed. “Don’t like _them_.”

Harry smiled and steeled himself for his last verse, gesturing to Louis’ outfit.

 

_“You made a dig about my clothes, but it’s weird that you’re making a fuss,_

_since the only brand you seem to know is Adidas._

_My style’s avant garde, it’s not an insult, it’s a fact._

_At least the 80s don’t call me asking for their tracksuits back.”_

 

He batted his eyelashes, and pursed his lips, dusting off his shoulders, even as Louis said, “That all you got?” his arms open wide. He cracked his neck theatrically. “Let’s finish him off, lad.” he called up to Joshua, waggling his eyebrows at Harry, and giving the beat two rounds before he started.

 

_“Oh, that’s rich coming from the guy trying to bring the 70s back._

_What did Vogue call your style? ‘Stevie Nicks on Crack’?”_

 

“You leave Stevie alone!” Harry laughed into the mic, unable to pretend to be indignant.

 

_“And while we’re at it, while we’re talking ‘bout a backup plan,_

_lemme ask, how’d your audition go for that Stones tribute band?”_

 

“Not good.” Harry told the crowd, shaking his head. “Didn’t get a call back!”

He could see Hailey Baldwin and Method Man cracking up in the corner booth, and Harry couldn’t help but feel like Louis’ smile was worth the embarrassment.

Louis continued, still on a roll.

 

_“Not good? That’s alright, mate, you’ve got options, you know._

_They’re still hiring Steven Tyler lookalikes for his Las Vegas show.”_

 

“Ouch.”

 

_“I’m kidding, you’re gorgeous, kid, I swear that face is a waste._

_Tell me, how’d you manage to make Gucci lose their taste?_

_Did you go into their office, threaten their designers with a knife?_

_Why else would they dress you like Liberace Barbie come to life?”_

 

An Irish accent called out from backstage, “Fuck, that was so good!”

“Traitor,” Harry giggled into the mic, though he couldn’t stop smiling.

 

_“Try to challenge me, Harry, pshhh dude, I spit fire._

_If you really want a Grammy, I’m the one you should hire._

_I’ll admit, I was nervous, thought I’d get distracted by your beauty._

_Turns out I didn’t need to worry cause I. Kicked. Ya. Booty!”_

 

“What what!” someone from the crowd hooted as Louis did a cute victory dance, wiggling his bum here and there. He held the mic to his lips and winked at Harry.

 

_“Your jaw’s on the floor, Harry,_

_guess that means it’s time to run._

_Wanna put a ring on my finger?”_

 

And Harry nearly nodded, before Louis hooted, _“Put it on this one!”_

He flipped Harry the bird, crossing his eyes with his signature funny face, the crowd going crazy around them, confetti cannons shooting out onto the stage before the winner was even announced.

And of course, _of course_ the trophy went to Louis – how could Harry even compete? – but he took the loss gracefully, clapping his hands and hooting wildly along with the crowd, high off making _The_ Louis Tomlinson laugh, even for a bit.

Harry was still grinning as the boys pounced on him backstage, slapping him on the back raucously.

“I really didn’t think yeh could do it, mate.” Niall laughed maniaclly.

“Gee thanks.” Harry rolled his eyes as they entered the nearly empty dressing room. He dived for the chair in front of the vanity, excited to crash, when his eyes snagged on a small note taped to the mirror.

 

In a messy scrawl it said,

 

_H,_

 

_You put up a good fight, and I wasn’t kidding, you’re a cutie,_

_So even if I did manage to hand you your booty,_

_The only thing that’d really make me feel like a winner,_

_Is if you said yes to me taking you to dinner._

 

_L x_

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! You can find the masterpost [here.](https://indiaalphawhiskey.tumblr.com/post/175120121749/the-way-you-move-aint-fair-you-know-by)


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